Chapter Thirty-Eight: Such a Swift Sword

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Such a Swift Sword

Gulp, gulp.

After emptying a jug of wine, the Blade Wolf of Chaos stood up abruptly, facing the direction of the sun, and let out a series of long, piercing howls, as if a great weight in his heart needed to be released.

Fang Junmei's eyes flickered as he listened.

Only after some time did the Blade Wolf of Chaos regain his composure. He turned to Fang Junmei and said, “Brother Junmei, my mission outside the clan is almost complete. That beast has been slain, and now it’s time to return home. What are your plans?”

Fang Junmei replied, “I have plenty of time. I plan to gather some more Essence of Wind Shadow Sand before heading back.”

At his words, the Blade Wolf of Chaos cast him a look of disdain and laughed. “Brother Junmei, don’t show your ignorance. Do you know the value of a single piece of Wind Shadow Sand Essence? It’s equivalent to at least a hundred clusters of Wind Shadow Sand. Why bother with the sand itself?”

“It’s that valuable?” Fang Junmei was surprised.

The standard reward for a single cluster of Wind Shadow Sand was two hundred low-grade spirit stones. A hundred times that would be two hundred mid-grade spirit stones.

The Blade Wolf of Chaos nodded. “It’s exactly that valuable. If you take it to an auction in a cultivator’s marketplace, the price would be even higher.”

“What use do Wind Shadow Sand and its Essence have?” Fang Junmei asked.

The Blade Wolf of Chaos explained, “Both are materials for refining artifacts. I’m not sure about other places, but in our clan, adding a piece of Wind Shadow Sand Essence to a blade of magical weapon grade can boost its flight speed by ten or twenty percent.”

Fang Junmei nodded thoughtfully. “I’m a little short on resources. Since I rarely get a chance to come out, I’d like to collect a few more clusters of Wind Shadow Sand before returning.”

“As you wish,” said the Blade Wolf of Chaos. “But you’d best not venture toward the center. This Ghost Sand Desert is no kind place. Beneath the ground may lie even more fearsome creatures.”

His words carried genuine concern.

Fang Junmei nodded gratefully.

The Blade Wolf of Chaos was forthright as always; he generously gave Fang Junmei two bottles of Qi Restoration Pills before flying off on his blade.

Thus ended a brief encounter—who knew when they might meet again?

…

After resting and tending to himself for a night, Fang Junmei set out once more.

Now that he was in the Ghost Sand Desert, he proceeded far more cautiously than before. He no longer ventured deep within, but instead collected Wind Shadow Sand only in the windstorms near the edges, though this meant his gathering was much slower. The deeper one went, the more abundant the Wind Shadow Sand.

Days and months slipped by.

Few cultivators visited this place, and those who did were rare sights, usually just passing by overhead. None of them showed the slightest interest in a weakling like Fang Junmei.

Ten months later, Fang Junmei began his journey home. The amount of Wind Shadow Sand in his storage pouch was now so great that he himself was astonished.

Besides his haul of Wind Shadow Sand, his proficiency and speed with the Yellow Springs Ghost Rain Sword Art had improved tremendously. This journey had been well worth it.

“If only cultivation in the world of immortality didn’t devour so much time and require such long periods of seclusion, I’d travel the lands as freely as I once did in the mortal world,” Fang Junmei mused as he set foot on the path home.

Naturally, the road back was filled with battles. Fang Junmei deliberately steered clear of secluded valleys where powerful monsters might dwell, and thus avoided major complications.

Thanks to his steady mind, Fang Junmei’s cultivation journey had been smooth up till now.

…

At last, he returned to the Peach Blossom Spring of Taoyuan Immortal Mountain.

Though he had been away for only a year, passing through the mountain gate gave Fang Junmei a true sense of coming home.

He entered the gate and ascended to Steward Peak, striding into the mission hall.

Inside, the hall was filled with the usual crowd of inner and outer sect disciples, lively and noisy. When Fang Junmei appeared, the room quickly quieted; word of his Wind Shadow Sand mission had already spread.

“So Junior Brother Fang actually made it back alive,” someone whispered.

“Perhaps he just found a place at the foot of the mountain to lie low for a while. That counts as returning alive too,” someone else added sarcastically. “Look at that smooth, fair face of his—not a scratch. He probably didn’t have to fight much at all.”

Laughter erupted, full of ridicule.

Strangely enough, since joining the sect, Fang Junmei had mostly kept to himself, save for one fight with Xiao Yunyu, and had never courted trouble or sought attention. Yet, somehow, he always became the subject of gossip and envy.

It’s true—only the mediocre escape jealousy.

Fang Junmei’s gaze swept the hall. He quickly spotted several familiar faces—likely those who had been present during his last mission. Finally, his eyes settled on the sarcastic disciple.

This man looked to be in his fifties or sixties, dressed in a rather elegant indigo robe, of medium build, ordinary features, and with streaks of white in his hair. He sat with head held high, displaying a certain authority, and had reached the early Dust phase.

When Fang Junmei looked his way, the old man forced a profound smile, making no attempt to hide his disdain.

“Your face is certainly rough and scarred, but your cultivation is lacking—what a waste of all those years!” Fang Junmei retorted coldly, standing tall and proud, his eyes sharp as blades.

Though mild by nature, he was not one to tolerate mockery.

At these words, the hall fell utterly silent.

All eyes turned to either Fang Junmei or the old man; those who looked at Fang Junmei felt an unexpected admiration for his courage.

The old man’s talent was indeed not high—otherwise, he wouldn’t be loitering in the mission hall instead of cultivating. Ashamed and angered by Fang Junmei’s words, his face turned an ugly shade of green.

“Boy, I joined the sect before you—I am your senior. Who are you to lecture me? And who knows if you’ll ever reach the Dust phase?” the old man snapped, his tone cold and harsh.

Fang Junmei smiled slightly. “I sincerely hope your lifespan is long enough to witness how far I can go.”

Confidence and pride radiated from his very bones.

And there was a hint of venom too.

“Boy, you’re courting death!” Enraged, the old man’s eyes flashed coldly. He slapped his storage pouch, and a ball of blue light shot out, hurtling toward Fang Junmei’s face like a bolt of lightning—swift and sudden, nearly a sneak attack. Most disciples in the hall had no time to react.

“Stop!”

“Dodge!”

Cries erupted from the mission desk. After all, if Fang Junmei died here, those on duty would also be implicated.

In truth, as soon as the old man struck, regret flashed in his eyes; the attack had already been unleashed, and it was too late to withdraw.

The hall was not large, and the two were not far apart. Almost the instant the blue light shot forth, it was already within a yard of Fang Junmei.

Clang!

The next moment, a piercing metallic screech that could shatter eardrums erupted.

Those with keen eyesight saw Fang Junmei draw the peachwood sword from his waist in a blur, faster than the eye could follow, and with pinpoint accuracy, tapped the blue light.

The blue light spun back, revealing itself as a blue flying dagger artifact.

As for Fang Junmei, he spat out a mouthful of blood and was sent flying, crashing heavily onto a table behind him.

Crash!

Wood and porcelain shattered, debris flying.

It all happened in a flash, too swiftly for most to even register.

Such a swift sword!

This was the thought that rose in every cultivator’s mind as they came to their senses. Their gazes toward Fang Junmei grew complicated—gone was any trace of contempt.

After all, which of them, as mere Qi Initiate disciples, could have blocked that attack?

As for Fang Junmei being knocked back, everyone understood it was due to the difference in cultivation and spiritual power. Once he grew stronger, the old man would be left far behind.

…

For a time, the hall was as silent as death.

The old man, who had just been regretting his outburst, now looked even more conflicted. He realized he had just provided Fang Junmei with another stepping stone to fame—and he now sensed the threat Fang Junmei posed. A cold light glinted in his eyes.

Wiping the blood from his lips, Fang Junmei stood once more, his gaze toward the old man now icy cold. Even though his opponent was at the early Dust phase, he was willing to fight—and it was by no means a foregone defeat.

A confrontation seemed imminent.

“What do you all think you’re doing? Fighting is strictly forbidden on Steward Peak—do I need to remind you?” A voice, stern and calm, yet thick with displeasure, suddenly rang out from outside the door, echoing in every ear.

At this, most disciples’ faces changed.

Swish, swish—

In an instant, all the inner and outer disciples who had been drinking and boasting rose to their feet, bowing respectfully to a golden figure entering from outside.

“Greetings, Senior Brother!”

The voices rang out in unison.

Fang Junmei looked toward the doorway. This was his first time seeing Gu Xijin—a meeting he would never forget for the rest of his life.